The junkie beggar with a dog? That was me - until I dodged a bullet, says former addict son of Barry 'Dame Edna' Humphries

Oscar and his father comedian Barry Humphries, a household name due to his loveable character Dame Edna Everage

The most recent text came through last Friday. ‘Have a nice weekend mate,’ it read. Except this wasn’t a friend or a ‘mate’ as he put it. This was my drug dealer, the man I have deleted from my phone, along with all the others who were always there for me any time of the day or night.

Most of them have given up now I’m clean and sober, but not this one. Every eight days or so, he sends me a message reminding me that he – and the drugs – are still available.

I find it quite sinister. Every time I see his name it makes me feel anxious because I allow myself to fantasise what would happen if I replied. I don’t, of course. I feel very lucky to be alive when I could quite easily be anything but.

Any addict who manages to stop has dodged a bullet.

Wealth is no protection from addiction. I come, I suppose, from a privileged background. I went to a public school. In fact, I went to several and I decided that ‘this just isn’t working’. My father, Barry Humphries, is famous – as is his comic creation Dame Edna.

I remember how happy I was to have discovered alcohol as a teenager. When drinking I was funny, I could talk to girls, and my melancholia – of the Adrian Mole variety – was diminished.

At first I drank like my peers, and when we discovered drugs my early use was typical adolescent experimentation.

But by the age of 18, when my friends were going to university, I was in rehab.

Further spells followed. At my worst I was the text-book addict. The junkie with the dog begging for money who we see most days on the way to work.

I had no dog (one of my exes took him) and I was still in designer clothes, although I hadn’t washed them in a while. Nor was I begging. But I had the same desperation and like them was focused only on the next fix.

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I’ve always been very open about my struggle with addiction. Keeping it a secret would do me no good at all. Being an addict isn’t shameful – it’s a disease – but what we do in our addiction is.

I’ve never stolen or been in prison but I’ve lied – constantly and without compunction – to everyone. To my parents, my bosses, my friends, myself.

Dame: Oscar Humphries reveal how despite a privileged background as the son of Dame Edna Everage he spiralled into drugs and alcohol addiction

Addiction involves a huge amount of dishonesty and it’s exhausting. Even the little things take their toll. The times I’ve had to pretend I was suffering from food poisoning rather than sickness from the excesses of the night before.

My parents were obviously very worried, and at one level this worried me. Like all boys, I wanted my father’s approval and my mother’s love – but not enough to stop. Every addict takes drugs to remove themselves from emotion. So you get the occasional glimpse of terror or sadness, but the subtler feelings that normal people experience are erased.

I’d go AWOL for days. Then I’d text my parents with the words ‘I am alive.’ I was, but only barely and I never once thought of saying, ‘I’m sorry, how are you?’

By the time I was 22, the drugs had already extracted a severe emotional and physical toll.

Oscar Humphries aged 21 was already addicted

Every addict wakes up each morning saying they’re going to stop. That’s the condition. Then one morning you say it with a profundity you haven’t known before and you have a chance.

I managed to stay clean for seven and a half years, but then I decided I wasn’t an addict.

I convinced myself that all my previous troubles had only been a prolonged adolescence whereas now, I had the girlfriend, the dog, the flat . . . look at me. I was in Italy and had a glass of Prosecco. I woke up the next day thinking, well that was OK. Within a week I’d got drunk. Within two weeks I’d had a line. And within a month I was out of control.

It wasn’t too long before the girlfriend, the dog, the flat had gone. Again. I realised I’d reached my nadir when I began staying in and taking drugs by myself. That was the saddest thing of all. I felt so isolated.

In the end I turned to my parents. Stopping is terrifying. You think how can I go on holiday, on a date, have fun? How will I live? Very quickly, of course, you realise, it’s the other way round but it’s a reversal that takes a leap of faith.

Recovery is possible. I’ve seen people turn their lives around. I know people who are 40 years sober who were once ruined men and women.

I would encourage anyone who thinks they might have a problem to ask for help – the Alcoholics Anonymous helpline or talking to your GP is a good place to start.

It’s amazing what can happen once you take that first step.

Certainly, drinking cranberry juice at parties and feeling shy around girls I like is preferable to the harrowing alternative.